


Like any other day

by OrphanText



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Dildos, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-11
Updated: 2014-05-11
Packaged: 2018-01-24 09:11:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1599464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrphanText/pseuds/OrphanText
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is just any other day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like any other day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [General_Button](https://archiveofourown.org/users/General_Button/gifts).



> Dedicated to General_Buttons, my horrible banana gif loving friend who has a great love for omegaverse and a serious allergy to bad dirty talk.
> 
> Beta: ice-evanesco, General_Buttons because making the person you're gifting this to beta it is a good exercise
> 
> I don't think I've written omegaverse prior to this, nor have I written such an extensive scene on sex so there's that. I may or may not write another fic to put this into context, but I will have to see about that.

He shed his clothes as he walked into the bathroom, the dingy light clicking on with an audible, teeth-aching hum. The floor was cold beneath his bare feet, and on any other day, it would have sent him looking for his nice, fluffy but worn slippers. Today, he simply curled his toes against the cold surface, and savoured the chill curling upwards his spine, and blinked at his reflection in the mirror that he had always been wanting to replace, but never had the time to shop for.

 

He looked the same, greying hair, wrinkles marginally deeper than yesterday, exhaustion clearly painted beneath his eyes in red and purple. Shrugging, he toed aside his trousers, and carefully peeled the sodden underwear away from his skin, grimacing at the slick, slimy texture of it, and eased it carefully off his hips. It felt warm, and heavy in his hands, sticking to his skin like a warm jellyfish, before he finally dropped it on the floor wetly to join the rest of his clothes, standing naked before the mirror and sink.

 

He was a bit old, a fair bit past his prime, but as far as biology was concerned, he was ripe. Scratching at the back of his neck, ignoring the all too familiar feeling of natural lubricating fluids trickling down the back of his leg, he stepped into the shower. The water pressure was weak at best, the trickle of hot water pathetic, and he ducked quickly under it for a perfunctory wash, lathering on the shampoo and floral body wash that he had ended up buying in bulk when it was on offer. A long soak in a tub would have been a glorious dream, letting the hot water soak away the aches—low, consistent, and deep—but as it was, he pushed away the thought (gleaming marble tiles, consistent hot water that never ran out and fluffy towels) and made quick work of his shower, hopping out before the water runs cold.

 

Towelling himself off briskly, he pulled over the plastic basin and dropped in his disgustingly cold and sodden pants and trousers, before pouring in a tablespoon of detergent and filling the rest up with warm water. Leaving it to soak as was his usual practice, he gathered up a couple of towels, all of them slightly ratty, and padded out to plonk himself on the couch, with the towels beneath him to catch his fluids. It was pointless to wear any pants at this point as he had learned over time, which, while it didn’t exactly ruined them, did cause the material to turn rough and unpleasant. Coupled with the amount of effort to wash and soak them, he had taken to sitting naked on towels instead for the duration that it took for his body to run through the heat.

 

Reaching for the remote control, he settled back into his couch, flipping through the channels to look for something that wasn’t too boring, or excessively annoying, letting the pre-recorded laughter and the too bright voices from the speakers wash over the room. Perhaps he could finish reading the novel that he was halfway through, but pressing a hand against the undefinable dull ache in his abdomen, he didn’t think that any of what he was reading would be getting through to him. The best he would achieve was to end up losing his marked page, and having to return to the beginning again. Besides, he did feel tired, fatigue heavy in his limbs.

 

There was water, a bottle or two of juice in the fridge, and takeaway enough to last him for two days. Greasy and terribly unhealthy, but it does make him slightly more inclined to eat on days when cooking was beyond him, the compromise being the fresh fruits sitting on the kitchen table if he wanted something fresh to nibble on. The noise from the television droned on and on, the laughing turning plastic, a parody of civilian life. He flipped away from the pretty young wife to a cooking channel, before switching it off altogether to blessed silence and the background hum of his refrigerator. A check revealed slightly damp towels, and deeming it dry enough, he bundled it up and took it into the bedroom with him, laying it out over the bedsheets, and then tuned into the radio.

 

It was a little hard to find a comfortable position on the bed, particularly with the crinkling sound of the plastic covering that he had put beneath the sheets, and cold spots on his towels, but he did manage, and lay with his hand beneath his pillow, staring up at his ceiling, allowing his mind to slowly empty out, thoughts lazily surfacing, and slipping away again.

 

The next time he woke, it was to another DJ announcing traffic conditions, and a very cold, very large wet spot beneath his hips. He rubbed his cheek against the pillow, sneezed, and then sat up to survey the damage. His fingers came away with stretchy, clear discharge, and he rubbed thumb and forefinger together, feeling the slickness for himself, noticing that it was more watery. Wiping his hands on the towels, he cleaned up as best as he could between his legs, and went to get something to eat.

 

The churning, uneasy feeling which he had come to recognise as need in his belly persisted throughout half a carton of reheated takeaway, a glass of orange juice and crap telly. Stroking himself didn’t seem to help, his cock only half interested in the affairs of his body. With age, his heat was always simmering low instead of the urgent, immediate need for relief that he had been going through quite a good number of years before. It still made it no less pleasant to bear, however, and he squirmed through the quick check of his email, before retiring to bed.

 

Over the years, his collection of toys had grew as he experimented with type after type, material after material, curious for the experience. As an omega, he had the largest section in any sex shop catering to his needs, which was also the section with the most absurd, ridiculous toys ever imagined by the human mind.

 

Fueled by an overly sexualised market of omegas and the fulfillment fantasy of alphas, the sex industry was a largely booming and successful one. Other than the usual toys for penetration and stimulation, there were the more unusual ones which were not to be mistaken for the novelty toys that came in aesthetically pleasing curves, colours, shapes and design. From extra large steel fist butt plugs, girth and length increasers, toys designed to stretch omegas and unrealistically long and large dildos that the industry was convinced omegas were gagging to have stuffed into them, Greg had always had the larger part of the store dedicated to him.

 

Not particularly adventurous, Greg had stuck to the standard type of dildos and vibrators, preferring the simple, clean cut aesthetics to novelty types with jewel studs on the base and countless functions that he wasn’t sure he needed. Now, he was down to mostly silicone and glass, varying in length and girth for when he needed more, or less. Once, intimidated by the length and girth of the toys, he had started out with beta toys only to find that they were not what he needed. Now, he leisurely weighed the silicone toy in his hand, the curve and give familiar to him, running fingers over the texture, before spreading his legs, reaching down to give his cock a perfunctory stroke, nudging the tip of the bulge against his entrance and rubbing it in slow circles to gather the slickness between his legs. His bedroom was mostly silent, the outside noises filtering in through the barrier of the window and walls, muted. He breathed in sharply when the head of the toy breached the ring of muscle, and he shifted slightly, relishing the slow press inwards, mouth falling open as he focused on the sensation.

 

The sheets crinkled quietly as he drew his legs up, spreading his legs wider as he slowly slid the toy into him, moaning breathily as the texture did funny things to his insides as it always did. It was one of the wider ones that he owned, and easily one of his favourites out of his silicone toys. It was plushy, soft, but not too soft to the point it was a chore maneuvering it, and not hard enough to bruise his insides, and had enough weight to it to satisfy his bodily needs. He was delicate particularly when he was in heat. He could nearly pretend that it was a real cock, he thought, as he guided it back out, the dildo slipping out with help of its weight, and slowly pressed it inwards again, inch by thick inch.

 

Some days he preferred to feel the weight of it on his tongue, lips wrapped around the nearly skin-like length. He found it calming, strangely, sucking on a toy, but then the days in which he had the need or desire to were few in between, and fleeting. Which was not to say that he didn’t enjoy it, but simply did so irregularly. Still, it was money very well spent. That is, to say, that the large sex industry catering to omegas did know a bit of what they were doing after all. His breath caught as the bulbous tip of the dildo pushed up against the opening to his vagina, and withdrew the dildo slightly, rocking it gently at this point, feeling the slight resistance by feel of his hand. Shifting, he wiggled his hips to shift into a better position, skin rasping slightly against the sheets and towels on his bed, where his legs would be sufficiently wide apart, his heels having purchase and feet flat on the bed. He grasped the base of his dildo, felt where it was pushed up against the opening to his vagina, and then slowly, steadily increased the pressure to the point he felt the gentle resistance give, and couldn’t help the moan as the dildo pushed into his vagina.

 

Being an area that was seldom touched, it remained highly sensitive, and he shuddered, digging his heels in, mouth slack from the intensity of the sensation. He felt full, the toy resting closely against him, its weight comforting and titillating, by now warmed by his body to a comfortable temperature. Gulping air, he experimentally tapped on the base of the toy, and closed his eyes against the dim sparks of pleasures ignited by it. He would have thought that he might have been desensitized after all the years, but that was not the case. It was the same toe-curling, butt clenching sensation each time, and he was gentle with the thrusting, luxuriating in the sensations shivering down his spine.

 

It didn’t take too long for him to bring himself to an orgasm, lying in a shivering, quivering sweaty mess on the bed, clenching onto the dildo and wet between his legs and sheets. He chalked the absence of the urgent need that was usually present in the past to continually fuck the dildo into himself to age, and simply lay back panting as his body shuddered where he once would have been gearing for a second round. A shower would be in order, as well as a change of towels, and he could do with washing the clothes that he had put in to soak. But a quick nap, as disgusting as it might feel right now, would probably be better. And after that, he could likely focus for long enough to get food, and to do some easy miscellaneous chores around the house before he needed another round again. For now, he scrubbed his stomach as best as he could of his own fluids, wiping up the stickiness.

 

He left the dildo in, only because he liked the feeling of fullness, the flared base assuring him that it would not slip in while he was asleep and resulting in an embarrassing trip to the ER. Rolling onto his side out of the wet spots as much as possible, he rubbed at his abdomen absently with a hand, feeling the dildo shift inside him as well, and then closed his eyes to catch up on sleep.

 

He settled easily into the long established routine, familiar with his own body. The toys could never satisfy him the way a real cock would. It was in the lifeless feel of the dildo when he lay catching his breath, the sensation of it not being enough when his vagina clenched on it in orgasm. But it was enough, keeping his need at a manageable, simmering low. In between, he ate, watched crap telly, replied to emails and continued reading his novel as his heat gradually weaned off. It wasn’t too bad, nor too exhausting, and did actually help him catch up on much needed sleep which he lacked while running work days. He missed running, but missing out for a week wouldn’t take a chunk out of his stamina.

 

It was nearing the end of his heat, and he was sitting on the sofa munching on apple slices, the glass dildo that he had been using in the process of being sterilized in the dishwasher. A container of half eaten fried rice sat next to him as he typed painfully with one hand, clearing off his old mail and responding to the newer ones sitting at the top of his inbox. The radio was in the next room, playing something off the charts, and just as he sent off his latest email and was thinking of looking up the recipe food blogs that he was following, there was the sound of keys at the door. He didn’t look away from the chocolate, prune and armagnac cake (300 g chocolate, 200 g unsalted butter, 6 eggs, 125 g caster sugar, 150 g prunes and 50 ml Armagnac. Doable.), but he did lean into the hand running through his hair, then resting warmly against his neck.

 

The fingers played with the short hairs at the back of his head, the presence warm and comforting behind his back, neatly pressed cloth and sweet smelling cloves, and another hand reached over to scroll the post down for the rest of the recipe.

 

“Armagnac?” Mycroft sounded amused, reading over his shoulder. “Shall I provide you with a bottle? It looks scrumptious.”

 

“Dinner on Wednesday?” Greg was skimming through the recipe, admiring the shots of the cake that the blog author had taken. “It would be a beautiful cake.”

 

“I can schedule it in.” Mycroft shrugged off his coat, and propped his umbrella in its usual stand in the corner, before joining Greg on the sofa. “How was your week?”

 

“Uneventful.” Greg shut the lid of his laptop, and leaned over for the quick kiss. “And you?”

 

“The usual. You should have stayed over at mine instead.” He watched Mycroft give him a cursory once over, and let him look his fill, not missing the way he had lingered on his lap.

 

“Didn’t want to intrude. I can handle it on my own, besides. I might have missed the tub more than I have missed you.”

 

That earned him a swat to his thigh, and a chuckle from Mycroft, before the alpha rose to check on the contents of his fridge.

 

“Your banana is turning brown,” Mycroft said, turning back with the offending fruit in his hand. “For dinner, perhaps I could order us something. If you are amenable, of course. God knows your love for greasy takeaway is far greater than your love for me.”

 

“And here I was thinking of if you were up for it tonight,” Greg moved on to pear frangipane tart, laptop open once again.

 

There was a long silence behind him. “If you are sure, Gregory,” Mycroft said eventually, cold banana still in hand, and he dropped it into the trash while Gregory couldn’t see.

 

“I probably will have two more today. So, probably after dinner.”

 

“A massage sounds in order for you then.”

 

“I may still change my mind.”

 

“You are always free to change your mind, Gregory.”

 

“We will see about that again tonight, then. Shower?” Greg plugged in his laptop to charge, and stood, completely naked.

 

“That does sound lovely.” Mycroft moved over to where Gregory was beckoning him, and allowed him to pull him into the bathroom, looking down when Gregory picked at the patch on his arm, and carefully peeled it off.

 

“You won’t be needing this tonight,” Gregory pulled him in for a kiss, before moving away to let Mycroft have first go at the water, watching his lover undress and eye his shower warily. “Probably.”

 

“Probably.” Mycroft agreed, and grinned.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Source links:
> 
> Cake and tart recipe from this beautiful blog  
> http://news.sunday-suppers.com/category/recipes/
> 
> Fic idea originally came about because I wanted to explore other possibilities and dynamics in the omegaverse that I don't get to read about, and also this was a writing exercise to get me rolling to work on my wips again.
> 
> I don't know buttons why am I dedicating everything to you?!


End file.
